The uneasiness settled between them like a fog neither could push away.
It drifted through their silences, pooled in the corners of rooms, hung between their glances. Cameron felt it in the way Jasmine's fingers tensed slightly when they interlocked hands, as if her body hadn't decided whether to hold or release. She felt it in the way Jasmine's eyes darted to her phone screen whenever it lit up—casual, but too often to be innocent. A flicker of interest, then suspicion. Always suspicion.
The questions started repeating.
"Who were you texting just now?"
"Was that your mom or someone else?"
"Why'd you turn your phone face down?"
Each one framed like curiosity. Harmless. But the tone was clipped, brittle, laced with the expectation of being lied to.
Cameron tried to push it away. She told herself Jasmine was still rattled from their last fight—that maybe the idea of the trip had stirred something anxious in her, something protective. People got nervous when they cared, right? That had to be all this was. Growing pains.
But as the days wore on, the shift hardened into something more suffocating.
Jasmine's codependence was no longer romantic. It was oppressive. She hovered. She followed. When Cameron left a room, Jasmine trailed her under the pretense of looking for tea, or grabbing her sweater, or needing to stretch her legs. If Cameron laughed at a text, Jasmine's eyes snapped to her face. If she lingered on a social media post too long, Jasmine's gaze followed, quiet and sharp.
Cameron couldn't breathe without feeling watched.
She kept trying to soothe, to center, to remind herself this was love. That Jasmine's closeness was a sign of care, not control.
But it didn't feel like care.
It felt like surveillance wrapped in concern.
One night, while they sat on the couch in a silence that used to feel comfortable and now felt volatile, Jasmine broke.
"I just don't understand why you're still being so distant," she said, voice low but edged like a blade. "Even after you told me about the trip."
Cameron blinked, stunned. "Distant? Jasmine, I've been right here."
Jasmine scoffed, not looking at her. "Physically, sure. But emotionally? It's like you're slipping away."
Cameron exhaled and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to hold her frustration in check. "Jasmine, I'm planning a trip for us. I'm the one holding this whole thing together. How could I possibly be slipping away?"
Jasmine's jaw worked quietly, the tension visible in the curve of her neck. Her gaze dropped, then flicked back up, sharp and unrelenting. "Maybe because I feel like you're always keeping something from me."
The accusation hit like a slap.
Cameron stepped forward, instinctively reaching for her hand. But Jasmine pulled back before contact could be made.
That—that—hurt in a way she hadn't been prepared for.
"What do you want me to do?" Cameron asked, voice fraying. "I can't prove something that isn't real. I'm not hiding anything. I love you. I'm right here. What else do you need from me?"
Jasmine's expression faltered. For the first time in days, she looked genuinely uncertain. The sharpness in her gaze wavered, her shoulders sinking slightly inward like she was folding in on herself.
"I don't know," she whispered. "I just—sometimes, I get scared. Like if I don't hold on tight enough, you'll slip right through my fingers."
The words sat between them, heavy and soft at once. A confession that felt too close to a trap.
Cameron took a shaky breath. "You don't have to hold me so tightly. I'm not going anywhere."
And she meant it. Or at least, she wanted to.
But the truth was beginning to fester in her chest like a bruise—just because you're not trying to leave doesn't mean you aren't already halfway gone.
A beat passed. Then another.
Finally, Jasmine exhaled, her eyes glossy with something unreadable. Fear? Guilt? Calculation? Cameron couldn't tell anymore.
Jasmine reached out again, her fingers brushing Cameron's, then slowly lacing between them. Her touch was deliberate. Like claiming territory.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I don't mean to make you feel like I don't trust you."
Cameron squeezed her hand gently, but the warmth didn't come. "I just need you to let this suspicion go," she said. "Let's just enjoy this trip, okay? No more second-guessing. No more overthinking. Just… us."
Jasmine nodded, her grip tightening just slightly. "Okay. Just us."
Cameron forced a smile, but the words felt hollow.
Because she knew how this story went. She knew that apologies were sometimes just pauses between accusations. That "I'm sorry" could be followed by silence, and then suspicion all over again. That peace wasn't always peace—it was a temporary ceasefire.
Still, she nodded.
Still, she stayed.
The fog between them didn't lift. It just sank lower, curling around the edges of their promises. And Cameron, caught in the haze, held Jasmine's hand like it was still something that could anchor her.
But deep down, the uneasiness remained. It hadn't been vanquished. Just buried.
Waiting.